


Red Luck

by devilinthedetails



Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Cultural Differences, F/M, Gifts, Midwinter Presents, Multiracial Couple, Politics, References to Canon Typical Racism, References to Xenophobia, Romance, Surprises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-18 19:36:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13107099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilinthedetails/pseuds/devilinthedetails
Summary: Roald has a Midwinter surprise for Shinko.





	Red Luck

Red Luck 

“Corus is beautiful at Midwinter.” Shinko beamed on the inside as she stared down the street lined with the bustling shops of prosperous storekeepers. Evergreen garlands and wreaths hung from the doors while candles burned with their haloes in the windows, enticing passerby to enter for late holiday shopping. 

She was sure that the lights in the windows were reflected in her own shining eyes when she looked at her betrothed, who had escorted her into Corus flanked by guards Shinko doubted would be needed on this night before the Midwinter holiday started—their last evening in for over a week that would be empty of balls and banquets. Shinko thought that she would treasure the memory of her walk along the snow-covered Corus streets illuminated by flickering candles in windowsills with Roald more than any of the opulent celebrations Easterners were fond of hosting during the holiday season. 

In the Yamani Islands, Midwinter was a time for quiet rejoicing and reflection with family; in Tortall, it was an opportunity to make merry in elaborate attire at extravagant festivities where many courtiers drank to excess. Such public debauchery was also alien to Shinko. In the Yamani Islands, drunkenness was seldom seen since the inebriated lost control of their facial expressions, tongues, and sometimes their limbs, creating scandal, spectacle, and shame. It was a cultural difference that still left Shinko reeling like a drunkard on the inside where nobody could notice and ridicule her. 

“I’m glad you think so.” Roald, elbow hooked around hers, stopped to study a display of rich velvet and satin gowns that seemed so soft that Shinko, halting alongside her betrothed, longed to stretch her fingers through the glass to stroke the fancy fabrics. “Aren’t these dresses especially beautiful?” 

“Yes, Roald.” Shinko leaned closer to the window, the mist of her breath fogging the glass so that she felt for an instant more a dragon than a princess, to examine the stitchery. Each stitch was neat, evenly spaced, and small enough that it had to be squinted at to be seen. There was something familiar about the stitches, Shinko noted, fighting to prevent a furrow from creasing her forehead. She believed that just as every person’s handwriting was unique, so was everyone’s needlework, but stitchery was harder to read than letters. “The stitches are perfect, and the details are exquisite.” 

“We could step inside and take a closer look,” suggested Roald, tugging her gently toward the door into the dressmaker’s shop. 

“It’s ill-mannered and insensitive to enter an establishment in which one doesn’t intend to make a purchase just to gawk at the wares,” Shinko reminded him, confident that this was a piece of etiquette consistent across Tortallan and Yamani culture but puzzled that he had required her to point this out to him when, after years spent in Port Legann as a squire, he normally was very attuned to the sensibilities of merchants and shopkeepers. 

“Who says we aren’t planning to make a purchase?” Roald tapped her nose, pink from the cold, with a gloved finger. “Didn’t I promise you a gift tonight, Shinko?” 

Before Shinko could protest that a gown was too generous a gift, Roald steered her through the door while the guards waited in the street for them to emerge. She and Roald had barely set foot in the shop when Shinko had her first (but not, as it transpired last) surprise of the evening when the seamstress Lalasa appeared in front of them with a deep curtsy. 

“Your Highnesses,” Lalasa greeted them as Shinko managed to confine her shock to her racing heart, keeping her face blank by telling herself that she had been aware of the fact that Lalasa owned a business in the city, so it shouldn’t have been disconcerting to see Lalasa outside of the palace. Still, Shinko couldn’t entirely stifle the feeling that either she or Lalasa were out of their element, which made her grateful when Roald replied to Lalasa’s welcome so that she didn’t have to do so. 

“Good evening, Lalasa.” Roald favored the seamstress with a rare grin. “Will you perform the honor of showing my betrothed her surprise?” 

“Of course, Your Highness.” Lalasa curtsied again before gesturing to a table surrounded by cushioned wooden chairs. “If Your Highnesses would be seated?” 

Once the three of them were settled around the table, Lalasa produced a drawing of a kimono—cut in the style Yamani brides wore on their wedding days—sketched in red ink. Shinko stared at the drawing, wondering if her eyes had developed a vivid imagination or a malicious sense of humor. When she blinked, the wedding kimono still stood stubbornly before, and she had to take a steadying breath to prevent her voice from shaking like rice pudding as she asked, “Forgive my foolish question, but do my eyes deceive me or is that a Yamani wedding kimono?” 

It meant more than any other gift Roald had given her—and his presents were always thoughtful, selected with sensitivity to her interests and tastes—that he would think of honoring her heritage in such a significant fashion on their wedding day, one that went far beyond the lucky rice thrown alongside fragrant flowers during the procession up the temple nave or rice cookies served to bring good fortune at the wedding feast. Yet, it also scared her because she realized that many in the realm would be offended by this blatant reminder that their future king was marrying a foreigner. If she wore a kimono to their wedding ceremony, she would anger the masses who expected to see her in an Eastern style gown. 

“Yes.” Roald’s gaze was unwavering as it fixed upon her. “It is for you to wear on our wedding day, dear.” 

“I trust you approve of the design,” Lalasa added. 

Since the design was gorgeous, Shinko could only nod graciously. “It’s charming, Lalasa.” 

“Excellent.” Lalasa rose with a swish of her skirt. “With your leave, I will fetch some fabrics that might be suitable for your wedding kimono, Your Highness.” 

Eager for a chance to confer with her husband-to-be in private, Shinko inclined her head. “Please do.” 

Once Lalasa had vanished into a storeroom to collect bolts of fabric for Shinko’s inspection, Shinko arched an eyebrow at Roald. “Your honored mother has been mentioning the need for me to get fitted for a wedding dress in the new year. I surmise that she isn’t apprised of this kimono you have ordered on my behalf.” 

“No, she isn’t. Nor is my father.” Despite this admittance, Roald was unabashed. “Sometimes with my parents, it’s easier to apologize than to ask for permission.” 

Shinko understood from this that Roald hadn’t asked for permission because he didn’t want his plan to be forbidden by his parents. Roald wouldn’t directly defy their commands, but Shinko suspected that her future mother-and-father-in-law might regard this not unjustifiably as a case of preemptive disobedience to their will. 

“Does Lalasa realize that your parents haven’t approved this project yet?” Shinko thought that Roald could risk his parents’ wrath if he wanted, but she didn’t wish for an unwitting Lalasa to be entangled in the Conte family drama. 

“No.” This time Roald did look ashamed. “She assumes they’ve consented, of course, and I’ll assure my parents of that if I have to, but I probably won’t. They won’t blame her when they know that I’m at fault.” 

Before Shinko could pointedly inquire whether the very fact that he was referring to being at fault demonstrated to him that the wedding kimono was an unwise idea, Lalasa emerged from the storeroom with an apprentice girl in tows, each bearing a bolt of red silk. 

As Lalasa spread crimson silk embroidered with green dragons and a scarlet silk embroidered with golden phoenixes before her, Shinko couldn’t remain stony-faced when gazing down upon fabrics that reminded her of the country she had left behind to marry a prince she had never met in a land she had never been to before she arrived to be made a royal bride. 

She had resigned herself to the fact that she wouldn’t be getting a Yamani wedding—which she thought was a fair price to pay for not getting beaten by her mother-in-law or her husband as would have happened if her engagement in the Yamani Islands hadn’t been dissolved by Imperial decree—but not the prospect of a Yamani wedding kimono, blood red for luck and happiness, was staring her in the eyes and it was tempting. Be careful, little eyes, what you see, she chided herself, for it’s the second glance that ties your hands as desire pulls the strings, but still she couldn’t turn away from the promise of the red wedding kimono. 

“The fabrics are so lovely.” Shinko ached to touch the fabrics but feared they would fade like mirages beneath her fingers. “How will I ever choose between them?” 

She had already forgotten that she was supposed to be refusing the wedding kimono—not picking a silk for it—and embracing a proper Eastern gown. 

“I like the one with the phoenixes.” Roald, plainly delighted with her reaction to the silks, smiled. “You could wear your phoenix combs with it, and you’ve be the most beautiful bride in history.” 

Shinko lowered her eyes at the compliment that verged on sheer flattery. Unwilling to resist her betrothed’s generous gift and wanting a red wedding kimono now that the opportunity had so temptingly presented itself, she murmured, “A kimono in the phoenix silk would be perfect, thank you, Lalasa.” 

“It’ll be a pleasure to make the kimono as you command, Your Highness.” Lalasa curtsied an acknowledgement. 

After she had arranged a schedule for fittings and the delivery of the kimono with Lalasa, Shinko was prepared to take her leave. As she linked elbows with Roald to step out of the shop into the winter night, he addressed Lalasa with the firm kindness Shinko had faith would make him a good king to all his people one day, “Thank you for your time and your effort, Lalasa. If you ever need anything, please don’t hesitate to call on me.” 

“I will not trouble Your Highness.” Lalasa smiled as she and her apprentice scooped up the fabrics. “I’ve all I could need and more than I ever dreamed.” 

“You’re an inspiration, Lalasa.” With a sincere nod to Lalasa, Roald escorted Shinko out of the store onto the snowy street. As the guards who had waited outside the door slipped into formation behind them, he remarked to Shinko, “Her transformation from meek maid to brisk businesswoman never ceases to amaze me.” 

Shinko, who had only ever been acquainted with the brisk businesswoman, answered, “I find it impossible to picture her as a meek maid.” 

Silence fell between them for a moment before Shinko, deciding that she didn’t want to be a meek maid either, pointed out respectfully but resolutely, “A wedding kimono will upset many of the more conservative factions of the kingdom who will expect me to marry you in a traditional Tortallan gown, Roald.” 

“I know.” Unflinching, Roald lifted his chin. “I understand that the conservatives will be disgruntled, and I’m willing to appease them by serving whatever foods they like at the feast, dancing to their favorite music, and dining with their preferred partners, but it’s our wedding, not theirs. We should be allowed a small part that will be exactly as we wish. Our wedding isn’t to make them happy, after all.” 

“Nor is it just to make us happy.” Shinko chewed the inside of her cheek, tasting the bitterness of blood, and hoped Roald wouldn’t notice. “Our marriage isn’t only about us, Roald. It’s about uniting two countries in a way that’s best for Tortall and the Yamani Islands.” 

“Exactly. It’s about bringing our countries together in an alliance.” Roald cradled her against his chest. “We’ll honor the Yamani Islands with a kimono as a token of unity.” 

The fact that Roald, who rarely ruffled anyone’s feathers, would do so in order to pay tribute to her culture at their wedding moved Shinko so much that she didn’t trust herself to say more than a simple “thank you” for fear of a traitorous tremble in her tone. 

“You’re welcome.” Roald, tilting his lips down to kiss her forehead, picked up on what she had left unspoken as he almost always did. “I love you and your Yamani culture, Shinko. I want you to truly be my Yamani bride when we marry.”


End file.
